


Recomposition

by matrixrefugee



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Pain and general ickiness.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 19:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17607188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrixrefugee/pseuds/matrixrefugee
Summary: His death towards the beginning of Children of Earth is one of the most painful resurrections Jack has endured yet...





	Recomposition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](https://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/profile)[fic_promptly](https://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/)'s [Torchwood: Children of Earth, Jack during Day Two, This going in reverse was worse than decomposition; at least he wasn't aware of the decaying process.](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org/127874.html?thread=5978498#cmt5978498) WARNING: Pain and general ickiness.

Pain.

Pain like he had not felt since the first time he had died, at the business end of a Dalek's blaster. And he had died in so many ways since then: right when he thought that he had died in every way imaginable, someone came up with something new. Of all those times, this ranked in the top five, right below the night he lost his son, when he bled out trying to bring him into the world, and right alongside getting buried alive.

The moment his nerves came back on line, he felt nothing but pain. Pain shooting through the raw tendrils of protein that wrapped his bones, along the bloody strands of muscle and ligaments that bound them. His lungs had barely reshaped themselves when they inflated, forcing his ribcage to rise and his diaphragm to drop, drawing in a breath. And then just as suddenly, his diaphragm contracted and forced the air out, up his throat, between his jaws in a gasping scream.

At least he could not see himself. At least his eyes had yet to restore themselves in his burned, bloody sockets. But he could feel himself scream, hear his own voice screaming till his barely restored lungs burned and his throat ached, raw as the rest of his flesh.

Reconstituting. He imagined this is how decay felt, if someone rolled the tape of the space time continuum in reverse. He knew he had decayed at one point during his burial at Grey's hands, under the sod that Cardiff later stood upon. But fate and a lack of oxygen had kept him unconscious and unknowing of his reconstitution. That time at least. This time, luck and fate had decided against showing him a kindness, and he had to feel every cell, every fiber restoring itself. At least he could look forward to having skin on him again, but it could not come fast enough or soon enough. The pain would end when his body finished putting itself back together, when he looked presentable, but that took a lot longer than he preferred. At least he would get his good looks back, but devil take the ones who took it from him, who had destroyed his home and scattered his team. He had every intention of paying them back in the same coin...


End file.
